Nightcast
by Inumaru-Chan
Summary: Caught in the spell of freedom Candy offers, Malingo is willing to follow the girl with odd eyes, even when he is caught between terrible powers who would gladly have him dead. Can he help Candy save the Nine Kingdoms of the Abarat from groping, tyrannical fingers, or will he stumble on newly unshackled legs? (AU Malingo and Candy anticipated main pairing).


Malingo was born and raised as a slave. He was not sure who his real mother might have been on the account that he was sold six months after his birth. His mother could be in the same household that he dwelt in or in another part of the country. To be honest, familial bonds were the least of Malingo's worries. The boy was raised under the main nanny who took in all of the children. She instructed her charges on how to obey, no matter what you were told to accomplish. Of course there were the basics; how to clean, how to cook, how to properly greet guests, and the usual laying down of one's life if one's master was in danger.

In this case, Malingo was almost glad that his master barely even recognized him due to the large company of geshrat slaves he owned—well over two hundred. Unfortunately, Malingo's over keeper, Master Wolfswinkel, knew Malingo thoroughly. One could witness the greetings between master and slave by the welts that covered Malingo from the orange flaps on his face to the bloodied feet. Recently Malingo was visited by fortune on his twenty-first birthday when he moved from a plain cook to server who greeted the guests of The House of Gorgossium. This meant that the whip only licked the flesh on his back and not on his face or hands. When serving, a handsome face was required, though Malingo retained one sliver of a scar that sliced down the right side of his chin.

Overall, the geshrat could not complain about his station. He was used to constant beatings whether he was doing a good job or not, but the chance to free himself from the sweaty kitchen was almost a miracle devoid of the throb of never ending pain. He also was given a set of silk clothing, which was perhaps the fourth set of clothing his was given in the whole of his life. He was even permitted to clean it in a tub of water to skirt the stench of a geshrat's crusted blood and sweat. Even when he was in the kitchen with the oppressive Wolfswinkel (who loved his food floating in rum), Malingo could escape the trappings of flesh to arrive at some other plane of thought. Though not content, Malingo could tolerate the beastly conclusion to his life.

This is where we now find Malingo under the roof of The House of Gorgossium owned by the feared Christopher Carrion and his reclusive grandmother. On the particular night we find Malingo there was a masquerade being held in the main grand entryway of The House, which was more of a castle in its own right. Everyone who was invited came immediately, in fact, there were those who were not invited, and yet braved the consequences to attend. It was not a common practice for there to be pleasure in the Kingdom of Gorgossium. In most cases, there was oppression, desolation, and a rapidly increasing fear of something gruesome approaching. Yes, this still held true to the poor surfs that were left to blindly stare at the dark hill that held the festivities, but to have any semblance of joy before their eyes was something new and welcome. Perhaps, some could have exaggerated here, the dark atmosphere of curled black trees and stagnant gray sky brightened just an iota.

What was this rare occasion (one that may not reoccur for a century to come) that could create such a drastic change amongst both nobles and underlings? Christopher Carrion would be the answerer to this question. After almost three years of never ending persistent badgering, he could now proudly announce that he won the hand of Princess Boa. The princess of the Yebba Dim Day Kingdom resisted Prince Carrion's advances, teasing and needling him until he finally offered her fair rule of his kingdom is she became his queen in due time. All this had occurred through frantic letters carried across the vast distance of 300 miles, and without one another ever seeing each other's faces. Carrion did not care. He could tell that she would prove to be a fantastic queen and a brighter wife. There was love. He finally won.

Now was the time for preparations. Tonight, Princess Boa would arrive from the Yebba Dim Day, and for the first time Prince and Princess would meet. There would be a masquerade to celebrate the beauty of this union. The Princess would arrive at the ball, arranged as any other woman. There would be a mask, of course, and as tradition would have it, despite both being masked Prince and Princess would meet for the first dance, certifying their love and future marriage. Not only would royalty find happiness in such a depressing land, but also the (rich and uninvited) people of the kingdom. Everybody won in this beautiful progression.

Malingo had just finished baking his famous mini tarts when his over seer leered over him.

"Yer not in uni-ferm yet!" Barked the short man. Tonight he was wearing one of his yellow suits that had the least alcohol drenched upon its cotton. There might have been an attempt to dab on cologne, but all efforts were wasted due to the brown bottle clasped in the man's hand. Malingo instinctively flinched. He thought that Wolfswinkel would have at least been absent mingling with the crowd outside. The welts on his back reminded Malingo of last night's beating that had been "jist fer the fun of it."

"I w-was just finishing the t-tarts."

The short man's face flashed red, and he raised his bottle menacingly. If orange skin could grow pale, Malingo's would have.

"I-I-I'll put on my uniform now." There. Now he was saved. There could be no beatings if the geshrat was in his nice clothing for the guests. Wolfswinkel sniffed, lowered his arms, and took a long pull from the bottle. The man was mollified for now.

"Don't waste a moment. This show has to be happy, boy. Happy! To be happy, you have to be fed!" Wolfswinkel waved his arms around, splashing amber liquid on the floors. Malingo did not waste his temporary pain relief. He rushed from the kitchen and into the crowed changing chamber of the servants. It stank terribly, but only people who were new noticed the extent of the filth. There, the young man shrugged out of his torn and greased shirt and pants. He quickly threw on his smooth, white shirt, black bowtie, and pitch black trousers. Unfortunately, he was not given a pair of shoes. The trousers were long enough to cover his feet, and so Wolfswinkel thought it a lost cause to buy a slave a pair of shoes. Malingo did not mind having never owned a pair of shoes before. Instead, he was simply proud to have such a handsome shirt.

"Watch out! Dumb geshrat!" A large human slave slammed Malingo into the wall of tiny cubby holes given to the slaves. Malingo's lithe body smashed into the hard wall, and he slumped to the floor. He let the humungous, well muscled woman kick him in his ribs until she felt like she was avenged enough and left. Malingo licked his lips and tasted the reassurance of blood. It was good that he stayed instead of fought. There would have been more than bruised ribs (perhaps broken) to have to contend with if he raised even a finger at the belligerent woman. What he was more worried about was his beloved shirt. Once the woman left, Malingo stood to observe the damage. It wasn't as terrible as he first thought. Just deep bruising. The shirt was saved.

Malingo rushed from the communal slave room, making sure to wipe away any dirt smudges from his flustered face with a rag he found on a chair. He flung the material away when he was done, and grabbed the plate of finished tarts when he arrived at the kitchen. Wolfswinkel had vanished from the vicinity, and for this Malingo was grateful. There were no more obstacles as he navigated the hallways of his household to the grand masquerade for the Princess Boa. Maybe he could catch a glimpse of the woman who would make his master happy. Could there really be woman to change the master's heart from wicked like his grandmother's to something more? Would he be drunk off of so much joy that…no—Malingo shook his head.

_Freedom is a myth_. The faithful mantra of his youth that never failed him thus far played in his thoughts. The truth was easier to swallow if one shoved it down his throat every day.

"Oh, don't mind if I do!"

The young man jumped. He was absorbed in his thoughts, like he usually did during times in the kitchen, that he did not realize his arrival to the grand event of the night. A busty woman in a glittering black dress and matching mask plucked a tart from his tray. Her deep red lips soon became smeared with the blue filling of the tarts. She reached for another morsel, only ceasing her motion when a tall man walked past her. He was dressed in a smattering of gray and black devised in a form hugging jacket and trousers. He was obviously fit, and the way his dull skin shone underneath the lighting, he seemed to be a moving macabre shadow with a splendid mask suited for death. The woman turned to ask the man for a dance, which he declined.

"I am saving my first and last dance" he said in a deep baritone that shook not only the bones of the woman, but of Malingo as well. Though this made the woman squeal with giddiness, Malingo could not help but feel uneasy. The slave hurried away from the scene in unexplained fear.

Here we shall briefly leave Malingo in his fear, for his perception of the masquerade was slightly askew from his trembling. We may find that this particular room was as large as three sea worms from head to tail, to give an accurate length. On either side of the room was a spiraling black staircase leading to the second story of the castle, which no one was permitted to enter as it was guarded by queer folk dressed in uniforms given to soldiers. The floor underneath our dancers' feet was the purest of night marble. It absorbed the reflections of the dancers, playing with the images until they became ghastly reenactments of their owners. Most of the owners, in turn, were not that glamorous to begin with. Some bore anatomy that would simply turn others into puddles of trepidation. Boar's tusks, lion's manes, multiple heads, green claws, living hair and too much to keep on describing were the features that adorned our guests. There was the rare humanoid that possessed nothing as outrageous as a scorpion tail from beneath her gown here and there, but if Malingo's senses had been properly functioning, he would have seen the occasional red glint in the eyes of the supposedly less outwardly decorated guests.

Almost as if to compensate for their oddities, the guests wore the usual garb that was associated with the usual masquerade; fair laces, leather tops, high heels, plump lips, and the much favored strapped on or hand held mask. Only a couple chose not to adorn their masks, such as Malingo, whose face was enough to match the crowd. Surely, though, the people of the Kingdom of Gorgossium could match in elegance with any of the other nine surrounding countries. By the time any other normal guest would have had the chance to absorb the embellishment of the room and its guests, Malingo had at last regained his senses. He passed from guest to guest, secretly enjoying the sense of pride that was paired with every grunt of approval from his customer. Once he calmed down further, the geshrat found that he enjoyed the vast diversity and gaiety of the gathering around him. The tray slowly began to empty until there was only one lone tart left.

_It's probably for the best that I leave to get more. The dancing is about to start, and I don't want to get tangled up with that._ Malingo imaged what it would be like to dance with a fair lady and blushed. No. He couldn't possibly. Even if he could, he was strictly forbade to interact with the guests unless it was to serve them a treat. The band in the corner next to the right staircase began to tune their instruments as the hanging lights on the ceiling moved its tentacle arms to shine light on the performers. It was time for Malingo to go. He turned to flee.

"Excuse me. May I have the last tart you have there?" A soft, but deep feminine voice pondered.

"O-Oh, yes ma'am." Malingo turned. His heart was beating irregularly like it had from the strange shadow man who spoke before, yet this time he felt more…how could he describe it? Excited, maybe?

"Thank you, sir." A hand clothed in an ivory glove specked with black and ending in black lace reached out to retrieve the dessert, but hesitated. Malingo, curious, followed the arm to its owner (something of which would result in a beating from Wolfswinkel if the short man ever found out about this indiscretion). Despite knowing of the punishments for his action, Malingo was compelled to continue his survey. The young woman's ivory costume was slender yet thick with dressings of black lace to add texture and contrast. A black bow was tied around her waist, and strings of similar black lace edged around the scoop of her neckline, revealing creamy white skin. She wore a black stone attached to a silver chain for a necklace. Her mask, perhaps as a way to draw attention, was a deep blue, and it barely covered the thick, ebony hair that lay to her shoulders. The young woman was strikingly beautiful, especially with her black lipstick.

"Actually, would you care for a dance, instead?" Asked the woman. Malingo glanced over his shoulder, making sure if the miracle was actually talking to him.

"I, uh—the tarts" was all the young man could manage to reply.

"That's easy to take care of." The woman took Malingo's silver tray and gave it to the nearest person, who was the same woman Malingo first served his tarts to earlier that night. "Could you take this for us, please? We would like to dance."

"Oh, yes indeed. Anything for a prospective young couple!" Replied the large woman, though she most likely wanted the tart more than anything. She then left the two, taking the plate with her.

"Couple!?" Malingo, still stuck on this word, squeaked.

"That's just a silly superstition. Now would you like to dance or not?"

"I, well ma'am, I'm just a—"

"You are just going to dance with me. I need to get rid of this nervous energy, and you are going to help me, yes?"

"I don't know how to dance." Malingo hoped this would deter the woman, but she was indeed persistent.

"Then I'll show you. Hurry, the music is starting."

The young woman grabbed Malingo's shaking hands and placed them on each side of her near her hips. She then looped her arms around his neck, barely interlaced her fingers due to his height being a good head taller. At this point, Malingo knew that he was not going to escape this unpunished. Why in the world did he simply let the woman do this? He could be demoted or sent back to the inner workings of the castle. There would be nothing to stop Wolfswinkel from destroying every inch of Malingo's body with the whip. Panicked by the thought, Malingo pulled away from the woman's grasp, but she tightened her hold. Malingo ceased his struggling to catch sight of the woman's eyes. What could she possibly be thinking? The lilting music started as soon as Malingo's eyes met his dancing partner's. The geshrat terminated any other thoughts of flight.

_Her eyes. They're different colors. One the color of the deepest shade of oak, and the other the hue of the morning blue sky_. Transfixed on the enchantment of his partner's eyes, Malingo barely noticed when she guided him through simple dances. It was almost as if she took a pencil and scrubbed out the existence of the others around them. She came here to this masquerade for him, and he was born for her. His partner tilting her head and thick locks of hair fell over one shoulder. Malingo's heart squeezed painfully. Suddenly, he was well aware of his hands around the woman's waist. He could feel the faint heat the left her body in steady bursts. He shuddered at the places on his neck where her gloves made contact with his skin. For some reason, he felt as if he should have shoes on. Actually, he wanted to wear attractive clothes to match that of his dance partner. These thoughts surprised him. He never wanted these things before.

"What is your name?"

"What?" Malingo mentally cursed at himself. He needed to learn how to interact with others and not to instinctively curl into an internal ball.

"You're name." Her voice was like the whisper of a lullaby.

"Malingo, ma'am. May I ask yours?"

"May I touch your face?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Well," here the woman blushed charmingly, "your face is almost like a mask. I want to know how it feels like."

Malingo gulped and nodded, not sure whether or not this should be taken as a joke or a compliment. In either case, his answer would have held the same. Something about this woman jarred his previous content holdings. The eyes behind a blue mask sparkled at Malingo's answer. Smoothly, the woman slipped off her left glove and placed her hand on Malingo's right cheek. The young man bit his lip to avoid gasping. Her touch was like setting a flame to a long dormant candle.

"Your face. It has a scar." The woman traced her thumb along the mangled knot of flesh. Malingo's breathing quickened. There were tears that itched to be freed, but he held them prisoners. How could she do this to him? How could she show a face scrunched with shared pain to him? To show an inch of kindness that he would most likely never obtain after this night again? Chills blew through Malingo's veins. He wanted to cry out.

"Malingo, you are very sweet. I am glad I chose someone like you."

What did she mean by this? These words tossed Malingo back into his current situation. The crowd around him reappeared and yet they were no longer dancing. The orchestra was abnormally quite. The woman removed her hand from Malingo's face, gasping at something that stood behind him. Gasping generally never meant well for anyone. Malingo knew that this moment with the precious woman in front of him was over, and perhaps his life was, too. The male voice that struck terror in Malingo's heart boomed out from behind him.

"Princess Boa, is that you?"

"Are you Prince Carrion?"

"Yes."

"Then, yes, I am Princess Boa" said the woman in the blue mask. Malingo's previously swooning heart plummeted straight down into the crags of the earth. His throat went dry, and the bruise on his side decided that this was the time to reemerge as a vast amount of pain. Out of all the women to dance with, out of all the people to break the rules towards, it just had to be with Princess Boa! Not only that, Malingo was her first dance of the night! He was dead. He was worse than dead, now. There was going to be no escaping whatever Prince Carrion was going to inflict on his poor slave.

"Move, filth!" A large, powerful hand clasped Malingo's shoulder, thrusting him violently away from Princess Boa. Malingo's previous assumptions, though not properly voiced, of the gray, red shadow man from before were affirmed. He truly was Prince Carrion. Carrion plucked his mask off of his face, throwing the garment to the floor. The circle of guests slowly backed away to avoid any sudden bursts of murderous temper while Malingo lay on the floor, winded. Carrion's face was pale and sickly with the faint reminder of stitching around his thin lips, but what his face lacked in structure the pinpricks of blue in his eyes made up with cruel power. "Did this creature hurt you, because if he did then I would personally tear him limb from limb."

"No he did not, please don't, Prince Carrion." Here, Princess Boa removed her mask. The audience made a collective sigh of passion. She was indeed a picture to behold with a long, pointed nose, a heart shaped face, and strong cheekbones. Though she appeared to have a youthful air around her since she was supposed to be twenty-five, but here she resembled that of an eighteen-year-old. Carrion took a moment to analyze the beauty of his new bride. A faint smirk played on his lips until he refocused on Malingo lying prostrate on the floor.

"Well, he must have done something to you to pluck the fruit of our first dance. He has sullied tradition, my dear."

"Do we really need a dance to prove our love?" Princess Boa's voice was smooth and diplomatic, but there could be no trace of the love she was relaying to him. Prince Carrion narrowed sparkling eyes.

"The matter of love is not the point of this slave's treason. He shall be whipped until he is no longer conscious for his crimes."

"No!" Princess Boa gasped.

"That is far too easy, my lord, if you don't mind my butting in."

Everyone turned to this new voice, which belonged to Kaspar Wolfswinkel. The short man somehow pulled up a disguise of sobriety, even straightening his back and combing his hair down flat.

"Continue" replied Prince Carrion.

"This slacker deserves a painful death. He's always daydreaming. He's always staring off and avoiding his work. Worst off, I believe he's learned himself some letters. We can't have none of that spread to the others. The best way to get rid of the risk is to get rid of the root of the problem. See, he's already assaulted your bride. Let me be the one to kill 'em."

There was a silence as Prince Carrion contemplated Malingo's sentence. Malingo lay trembling, never dreaming that Wolfswinkel could have found out that he snuck into the short man's library of books at night to teach himself multiple topics. Again, the young man wondered how in the world he had gotten himself into a mess as momentous as this. Princess Boa stared at the geshrat from her place in the middle of the masquerade room. While Carrion and Wolfswinkel were deliberating, the princess mouthed something to the slave.

_Don't worry. I'll save you._

How could she possibly save him? After Carrion decides to kill him, because that is just how things would happen, Wolfswinkel would take the geshrat out to the public whipping post for a live show to kill. There was no winning or saving. Malingo would die tonight, and as he expected, he heard the very approval from Carrion's own mouth.

"Seeing as you were his overseer, you shall do the execution, but," Carrion added with an evil grin, "If one of your slaves ever crosses the line between master and servant, I shall personally see all of your nightmare come to light. Do you understand?"

"Oh, yes my lord. Yes!"

"Then get this creature to the block to leave my Princess be!"

"Wait!" the princess ran over to stand in-between overseer and geshrat. "I do not mind if you kill this thing, but I need something important from the creature first." Boa's change of tender vocals to that of a cruel leader startled Malingo. Carrion smiled coolly and nodded in approval towards his bride.

"May I ask what interests you?"

"His tarts were absolutely delicious. It would be terrible to lose such a recipe. I shall take him to my rooms to make sure he personally explains the directions so I may write them down properly."

"My dear, you won't need to bake your foods here."

"Prince, baking soothes me when my nerves are raw. Please grant me this boon."

"My lovely girl, how can I refuse you?" The prince turned to touch Boa's cheek. She stood stoically. The Prince froze, his temper flared, yet he contained its fire. "Go now, and return to me when you are finished. Send the creature to his overseer once its use has expired." With that, the prince turned on his heel, retracting his hand, and left the room via the left staircase.

A maid, almost out of nowhere, painfully pulled Malingo up to his feet. The young man groaned and caught sight of Wolfswinkel. He cringed when he saw the unmasked glee the prospect of murder brought to the short man.

"Follow me to your rooms, my lady." The maid, a tall woman with skin the color of burnt crust, threw Malingo over her shoulder. He landed with a painful collision on his throbbing ribs. The audience of guests shouted at the geshrat. They cursed him for his interference in Prince Carrion's happiness, they called him names worse than anything he had ever heard before, and they promised to enjoy his scheduled execution. Malingo fell limp on the maid's shoulders as she led the princess up the flight of right stairs and past the strange folk guarding the entryway. Why fight? He was going to die, anyway, and what for? A chance to dance with the sweet Princess Boa? What did that get him?

He remembered how she stroked the scar on his face and faltered. Her face at that time offered him companionship. She offered him freedom.

Well that was all well and good, but it was all over now. Once he gave the recipe to his tarts (he could write the instructions down himself he would milk as much time on this planet as much as he could), he would be a dead geshrat.

"Here we are, my lady. Your luggage arrived yesterday, and so we took the liberty of unpacking for you. Would you like me to accompany you while you question this scum?" the maid threw Malingo on the floor and gave him a pointed glare.

"No, there's no need. It's just a few baking secrets." The princess waved her hand in the air casually and gave the maid a dazzling smile. The maid grunted "as you wish, my lady" in response, turned, and left the two, princess and geshrat, alone in the room with the door shut.

Immediately, Princess Boa dashed to the door. She turned the lock and chanted something under her breath. The dense stench of magic filled Malingo's nostrils.

"Quickly, we barely have time." Boa ran over to the side of her king sized bed and snatched a pack that was already set on the nightstand. She rummaged through the items inside until she found what she needed.

"The tarts? Well, may I say that—"

"No, not the tarts! Hurry and help me grab that trunk over there!" The princess pointed at the opposite site of the room with the blade of the knife she previously pulled from her pack. Malingo stared with his mouth wide open as she plunged the knife into one side of her dress, hacking off shreds until her legs were revealed to be clothed in trousers.

"Don't just gawk, I need you to help!"

"Help you? Help you with what?" Malingo's voice cracked repeatedly.

"Escape." Malingo was thrown into more of an intense state of shock when the woman grabbed a fist full of her beautiful hair, sawing it all off with her knife until she was left with a head of short tufts of spikes. She rolled her odd colored eyes, walking up to Malingo, and shoving the handful of hair into his hand. "Put this in your pocket. When we are outside, chuck it. This way they won't know I've cut my hair."

"Excuse, please, princess…but what in the world is happening?"

"You, my dear Malingo, are going to become free."

"Free?"

"You are going to become free by kidnapping me."

"K-k-kidnapping? You? The Princess Boa?"

"That's where you have it wrong. I'm not the Princess Boa. I'm Princess Candy from the Kingdom of Yebba Dim Day."


End file.
